Post-postmodern American Nonfiction

I am a two-fisted poet
that writes "self-interviews".

This is the longest my nose hairs
have ever been,
but that's what wearing a mask
will accomplish.

In these tough times,
when life and death are on the line,
things like appearance tend
to not matter as much.

Plus, it's not like
I am going on dates or anything,
I must confess
that I don't want to especially fall in love. 

I am the beast
God forgot to invent.
Days are long,
but the years are short.

I wonder what's next
for me and for you,
whomever is reading this shit.

I am not a good writer;
I just can't turn it off.